He had to laugh at that, after a moment. Her? The woman who told me crisply that she had read The Decameron in the original? She might well force me to prove my mettle!
But as he dismounted, and pain shot up his legs from his cramped feet, the reality of his situation came home to him.
He was still trapped in the body of a half—beast. And there was no real evidence that he would be able to reverse that condition any time soon. No matter what his dreams and plans, that was the current reality.
He led Sunset into the stable, and with the help of his Salamanders, removed the tack to be cleaned and began to rub him down and groom him.
Such a purely physical occupation gave him plenty of time for reflection, although his thoughts were far from pleasant ones. He was being very confident in her presence about the matter, but the fact was that they were no closer to finding a solution than they had been when he first hired her. And he had a shrewd notion just who owned that manuscript the Unicorn referred to.
Beltaire has it, I'm sure of it, and he'd burn it to ash if he thought there was even a chance that I might get my hands on it. He is the only person I "know" that I have not asked about it, and if he had any inkling of my condition, he is probably gloating over it.
What could he possibly offer her, trapped in this state as he was?
She was being very brave and very controlled, giving no obvious sign that she found his bestial form repugnant, and in fact, he thought that now and again she actually managed to forget the form he wore, at least as long as she was not looking directly at him. But how could any woman look at him without shrinking away? He was hideous, a nightmare, and he would be a fool to think otherwise.
She was willing to be kind to him, but he should not hope for love, could not expect it out of even this most generous-hearted of women.
Even though I am afraid I have actually fallen in love with her myself. She would have to be a saint to love me as I am, and Rose Hawkins is no saint.
What a damnable situation.
He bore down on the brush savagely, and Sunset snaked his head about and nipped him in protest. Not that painful, but a reminder that Sunset would not put up with mistreatment.
If the situation were different—
Then I might well find myself in an equally damnable situation. She is not some pretty fool to be swept off her feet as I impersonate a prince in a fairy tale. How could I possibly propose to her as myself without giving her cause to resent me? "Here I am, handsome, rich, powerful, and shouldn't you be pleased that I, in all my glory, have deigned to make you my bride?" Or she'll think I'm making the offer out of a sense of obligation, and that would make any normal human feel strongly resentful.
Perhaps, in time, he might be able to persuade her that he was sincere—but she might not be willing to grant him the time.
She had a life of her own before her father died. She can resume her education, get her doctoral degree, and go on to a fine and respected career as an historical scholar and Lady Professor. She does not need me or any man—to give purpose to her life, for she already had it, earned by her own effort and no one else's.
With a sigh, he put up the brush and currycomb, and saw to Sunset's dinner.
There was no answer; the prospects were equally bleak whether he reverted to his former self or remained as he was. She could not love him as a beast, and probably would not love him as a man.
The best he could do would be to conceal his true feelings, and continue on as they were. If he could not have her love, he would at least not spoil the friendship.
He left Sunset to his grain, and turned his steps back toward the house, prepared to hide his feelings forever, if need be.
Fortunately, the mask of the beast made it damnably easy to hide the heart of the man.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Paul du Mond watched in fascinated detachment as hands that did not seem to belong to him slowly drove a potent load of clear, pink-tinged liquid into his vein through the medium of the syringe needle. The hands squeezed the plunger hard as the last of the liquid entered his body; he wanted to be certain he got every precious drop. Beltaire was generous with his drugs, but du Mond was not going to repay that generosity with wastefulness.
"What did you say this was?" he asked Beltaire, as he removed the bandage from around his elbow, and felt the first rush of euphoria hit him. He sat back on his bed, and watched Simon through a sweet haze of pleasure.
"I didn't," Beltaire replied casually. "A little of this, a bit of that, actually, including a few things known only to The Great Beast's devotees. You've had most of them in single doses already. It is a blend designed to last longer than cocaine, yet one which will not send the partaker into a mindless dream-world like many of the opiates. Eventually, it will free your spirit-eyes so that you can see beyond what fools call the real world into the many worlds beyond this one."
Paul nodded wisely, although in his current euphoric state he probably would have nodded wisely had Beltaire recited a nursery-rhyme.
"I don't suppose you've heard anything more about the virgin child your suppliers were supposed to get you?" the Firemaster continued, raising an interrogative eyebrow. "We really must have a virgin for the final ceremony opening up all four Elements to you." He sighed. "Best of all, of course, would be virgin above the age of puberty, but that's too much to hope for from these Chinese slave-merchants. They never can resist sampling their wares."
Du Mond shook his head, and a deep, hot anger awakened from the coals that were always glowing within his soul. He had paid, and paid dearly, well in advance of delivery—and all his supplier could offer him were excuses. There were shortages, due to high mortality in the shipments. It was harder to get people to part with children than with useless girls of marriageable age who had no dowries. The missionaries had confiscated his shipment. The missionaries had made it difficult to bring his shipment into port. Always difficulties, never anything but excuses.
He already had a Fire Elemental bound to his service, which was more than he'd ever achieved with Cameron. The trouble was hardly with his new Master. Simon Beltaire delivered everything he promised and more.
"I'll have words with them again," he replied, and added darkly, "I can always send Smith and Cook to them if they have nothing more to offer than excuses. I suspect the two of them could extract our money, at least."
"That should be your court of last resort," Beltaire warned. "It would be better to go to the extreme of doing your own hunting before you turned force on your suppliers." He raised a finger suggestively. "Remember that you have the use of my motor-launch when I do not require it. There are quarters in San Francisco—as you well know—where a brat might not be missed for several days. Most would go with anyone who offered them candy—and opium-powder mixed with taffy or fudge is a sure way to keep an urchin sleepy and cooperative long enough to get it into the launch across the Bay. Once it is in my house, of course, it can yell as much as it likes. Under normal circumstances I would not suggest this at all, except that the matter is fairly urgent if you are to make continuous progress. A local brat would at least be sturdy, which is more than can be said for Chinese merchandise that's just made a long voyage."
Paul licked his lips. "I'll consider it."